The Crew

Untitled Part 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

The beach was absolutely immaculate, secluded from the world by the cliffs a football field high. The clouds were airbrushed across the sky, bright white and puffy, scudding, beige sand rolling along the water's edge as far as the eye could see. All the cars in the lot were empty. I looked down, seeing the area below where St. Andy's Prep celebrated Beach Fest. There was an old wooden switchback stairway, an ancient thing splintered and peeling into oblivion, clutching desperately to the side of the eroding cliff, zigzagging.

The waves crashed carelessly, foam exploding on blue calm, washing away all previous signs of life.

I began the harrowing descent, carefully placing a foot on each step, some of them shaky and loose, scanning around with each completed landing. I knew damn well what I had in my pack and I wasn't going to do anything risky this early in the game. As I maneuvered and twisted down, closer and closer to that sand, I felt a swelling sense of anxiety. What would be waiting for me at the bottom?

My thoughts darted across my mind. I half wanted to turn around, hike back up the stairs, get into the car, shoot the dope, and fall into some oblivion. It would be easier, perhaps, than facing this uncertain fate. Then again: Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was blowing it all out of proportion.

But what about Cannon's note? What about the fact that they'd left me at Lorenzo's this morning? What about what'd happened last night?

I searched around quickly, scanning along the cliff, finding The Crew right near the bottom of the stairs. Cannonball, D.D. and Bear were sitting together in the shadows, against the cliff wall, sheltered by an outcropping of rock.

Where were Sarah and Laura?

"Hey guys; what the hell! Why'd you leave me this morning! I woke up totally confused! You should've chucked me into the Jeep! I'd of woke up sooner or later."

There was a sinister silence. Bear and D.D. gazed down at the sand. Cannonball looked straight ahead at the Pacific, not glancing my way for what seemed like an hour. Uncomfortably, I stood outside of the group, waiting for Cannon to do or say something. My gut tightened. Tension and unease swirled around me like invisible helicopter blades, swoosh-swoosh.

What. The. Hell.

He dipped his head low, picked up a handful of sand and let the grains sift through his long, slender fingers. His eyes squinted, looking my way, throwing all kinds of psychic strength at me. I stood dumbfounded.

"Look—" I started.

"Don't you ever—EVER—pull the shit you pulled last night again, Dog. You hear what I'm saying bud?" Cannonball pounced.

Crap. Here it was. It was happening. A reckoning. The end. The final nail.

"Um...listen Cannon, I don't exactly—"

"Shut up, kid. I make the rules here. Now you either do as you're told or you're out. You hear me? Out!" His lips curled, mouth caught in a menacing snarl. The others stared at the sand.

"Cannon," I said, full of terror, embarrassed. "I don't know what I did, but—"

Oh yes you do. You do too know what you did. You shoved it right in his face. Now you have to face the music. What happened with all your "anti-conformist-conformist" crap, Dog? Say something! Stand up for yourself! Strike. Wound him. Now is the time.